Alone in the Conference Room
by Stormaggedon
Summary: France is alone in the conference room. Or is he? lame summary...my first fanfic, rated T for safety, and because it's France. One-shot. Please Review.


Worn out by the antics of the other nations more swiftly than usual, Germany announced lunch break early, before heading out the door with Italy in tow.

America jumped to his feet, eagerness apparent, and dragged England out of the room, to have a very important "discussion" with him, in a nearby storage cupboard.

Russia left quickly with China, trying (without luck) to escape Belarus.

One by one, the other nations filed out, leaving only France in the conference room. Or so they would believe. What the other nations didn't realise was that France was not alone. Sitting next to where America had been, clutching a slightly confused polar bear, was a young nation with violet eyes and golden hair.

He stood up slowly, waiting for France to leave. He wanted to be alone in the conference room, so he could do what he normally did during lunch break and after meetings, which was running an imaginary meeting all by himself, pretending that it was all the other nations that were invisible, not him.

To his surprise, the Frenchman did not follow after the others, but turned to face him instead. The younger nation coughed quietly, unsure whether France was looking at him, or simply looking through him, as the rest of the nations did. His question was quickly answered, as the other man approached.

"_Bonjour_, Canada. _Comment __ça va?_" The Frenchmen enquired, his tongue wrapping around the words smoothly.

"U-uh..._Oui, ça va bien_," The young Canadian stammered, not used to conversation with anyone who wasn't his brother, or his polar bear, and especially not in French. "_Et toi?_" He asked, politely.

France smiled his most charming smile at the younger nation, who felt his heart flutter.

"Uh...I...um..." nervously, Canada started to gather up his papers, worried that France might begin to wonder why he was yet to make a move towards the exit.

"Where are you going, _mon ami?_" said France, stepping towards the Canadian, smiling in a way that could only be described as seductively.

At this, Canada felt himself go slightly weak, and he stumbled backwards, landing flat on his back on the floor.

France smiled again; this was going better than he had planned.

"_Ah, mon cher..._let me help you..." he let his voice trail off suggestively, as he crouched beside the very startled nation.

He smiled again, enjoying watching Canada shiver slightly as he spoke. He leant over the younger nation, and took one of his hands in his own.

Very suddenly, France stood, yanking Canada up with him, and a little closer to him than Canada expected. He shivered at the proximity.

Canada took a step back, and France walked with him. Canada stepped away again, but France continued to follow him.

They carried on in this fashion, until Canada's lower back was pressed against the conference table, and France was mere inches from him.

Canada began to mumble something, before he was silenced by France's finger pressing to his lips. His breath hitched in his throat, as France continued to move closer to him.

"So, tell me, _mon ami,_ why is it that you always seem to be alone?" France questioned. When the Canadian tried to look away, the Frenchman caught his chin with one hand, and made him look him in the eye.

Canada stuttered in response. The other nation nodded slowly, understandingly. Gradually, a smirk settled itself on France's face, as he looked into the eyes of the blushing Canadian.

As France leant closer, he whispered, "I have been observing you, _mon cher_," Canada shuddered, "and I am a little concerned that you may be spending a little too much time with _Angleterre._" That, Canada had not been expected, he pulled back from France, whom he had been unconsciously gravitating towards.

"What?"

France sighed, "_Honn__êtement,_ Canada? I have been watching you closely these past few weeks, and_ vraiment__, _talking to yourself? Waiting around alone in the conference room, and _talking to yourself. _Did I teach you nothing? Has England been such an influence on you that you have barely a shred of sanity left?" His eyes were accusing.

Canada felt a jolt go down his spine, as he found himself once again cornered by the Frenchmen. _How did he know all that_?

"H-how did you know?"

For once, France paused. Canada watched nervously, as the Frenchmen appeared to consider his answer.

"I told you, I have been observing you," He said shortly.

Canada decided to change his tact "_Mais, pourquoi?"_

To his surprise, the Frenchmen shivered at hearing the words spoken in his native tongue, with a soft Canadian accent.

"Because..." For once, France looked shaken, suddenly unsure of where he stood, but he continued, regardless, "I care about you...I don't want to see you hurt." And with that, he pushed himself away from the conference table, and the confused Canadian, and made for the exit, his face turned away from the younger nation.

Canada stood, shocked, for several seconds, before leaping into action, "France!" he yelled chasing after the other man. France did not turn. Frustrated, he grabbed the back of France's shirt, and twisted him around. Surprised, France stumbled back, but Canada caught him before he could fall.

There was a moment of silence. France straightened up, but instead of turning to leave, he looked once again at the Canadian.

"What is it, Canada?" He asked, although he feared what the reply would be.

"I care about you too," Canada managed to get out a coherent sentence, without descending into mumblings, but when he finished, he immediately blushed and turned away. There was silence from the other man, so he continued to walk, until he found himself at his spot on the table, and tried to hurriedly gather his things together.

He turned from the table to leave, but was stopped by the Frenchman, who now stood only centimetres away, watching him intently. He dropped all of his belongings in shock, as France's raised hand gently caressed his face. France ignored this as he leant closer, pressing his body against the Canadian's.

Canada stifled a moan when he felt France's arms slide around his waist, pulling him closer. France allowed his lips to softly graze the younger nation's, and smiled against them at the soft cry of "maple" that escaped them.

Canada felt France's tongue roll over his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth in shock. He felt France's tongue exploring his mouth, and he did the same to the Frenchmen.

The European nation's hands began to wander, running through Canada's hair, down his back and further. Canada let his arms curl around the Frenchmen's neck, pulling him as close as he could.

Things were beginning to get heated. France's hands moved wildly over the other man's body, and Canada clutched him closer, kissing him back with the same, desperate passion.

France was holding him with such intensity that it lifted him off his feet, and Canada wasted no time in wrapping his legs around France's waist. France groaned in surprise, and Canada took this opportunity to trail kisses down the older man's neck.

Canada was on the point of raising his lips to meet France's again, when an outraged cry was raised from the direction of the door.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING WITH MY BROTHER, YOU FROG!" France looked up, just in time to see America grabbing the front of his shirt, causing him to nearly drop the man in his arms. Canada quickly got himself down off France, looked in the direction of the door, and was horrified to see Japan and Hungary, both recovering from nosebleeds, and both clutching video cameras. And they weren't the only ones there.

Germany was covering Italy's eyes, a look of horror on his face.

Prussia was taking advantage of Hungary's distraction and was casually trying to invade Austria's vital regions.

Russia was smiling creepily at him, and Canada was momentarily pleased that he could see Belarus creeping up behind him.

He turned his gaze to where his brother was currently beating the crap out of France, and England was close behind him, showing a rare smile.

"America! Let him go!" Canada fought to get between his brother and France, and an obviously disappointed England pulled America away. The Canadian knew he would have a lot to answer for later, but at that moment, he didn't care.

France slumped into his arms, with a bloody nose, and bruises on his face. He propped the older nation up against the table, and began to clean him up. France grimaced apologetically, and Canada smiled sympathetically in return. He knew what it was like to fall victim of America's strength.

The meeting continued, and no one noticed, or if they did they didn't mention, the fact that France and Canada had moved around seats, so they were now side by side, or the fact that they kept exchanging embarrassed or apologetic glances, or even that their hands were entwined underneath the table. Even if they had, France and Canada couldn't have cared less.

The End


End file.
